Images of Sin
by Shobhana
Summary: In the wake of the telling of the prophecy, Albus Dumbledore sets out to right a few wrongs, and learns some valuable lessons along the way.
1. Footsteps, part 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, the plot however does.

Summary: In the wake of the telling of the prophecy, Albus Dumbledore sets out to right a few wrongs, and learns some valuable lessons along the way.

**Images of Sin**

**Footsteps (Part I)**

_In the end, everyone searches for absolution._

He never attempted to look for it when Severus Snape stood in his office, frightened beyond despair, and he allowed Sirius Black to go unpunished for the crime he committed.

He ignored his distress when Minerva McGonagall viciously protested against leaving Harry Potter at the Dursley's door, knowing to an extent that he was condemning the boy to a life of deprecation.

He buried the twinge in his heart when Harry Potter first came to Hogwarts wide eyed and excited by this new world that promised him freedom.

He ached when he found out that Sirius Black had spent twelve years suffering for a crime he did not commit, yet there was always justification – _it was, an honest mistake_.

When Cedric Diggory died and he sent Harry back to his relatives for a summer without contact, he almost caved. _Almost!_

But last week, the anguish on Harry's face, the quiet dissolution on Remus's . . . in the end everyone must look for absolution. So he stood at this door, contemplating whether to move forward or to steel himself again, to seek for excuses as he had been doing for almost thirty years. . .

* * *

The smell of spring lingered vaguely upon the air. The rain had been constant, banging against window-panes, strumming the pavement as if there was a melody of grief to be sung. He sat watching the green expanse of the grounds outside his window, his hand absently stroking the fiery red bird on the window sill. Albus Dumbledore could not bring himself to look at his oval office that was housed in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There remained still the remnants of an emotional display that had happened in this very office barely over a week ago.

'_Oh Harry! How many times have I wronged you?'_

The echo of Harry Potter's scream on the aftermath of the death of his godfather; the pieces of glass from the many tid-bits that had broken upon the back-lash because of his anger, his pain, still haunted his normally cheery office. The portraits sat sullen in their frames, unwilling to speak with him, unwilling to understand Harry's emotional response. In fact, Phineas Nigellus had been so adamant about the need to discipline the boy, especially after hearing about his great-great-grandson's death, that Dumbledore had asked him to not visit his portrait in the office for a little while.

'_What a ruckus that had caused.'_

There were things that needed to be done. Now that the Ministry had acknowledged the return of Lord Voldemort at long last, they had to begin mobilizing their allies. There were strategies to plan and people to see; Minerva had already been in to see him twice today, but for some reason his mind was fixated on the utter despair portrayed on Harry's face upon his learning of the prophecy.

'_And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. . .'_

He had tried again and again that the prophecy was a false one, that it was not necessary to burden one so young with such a responsibility.

'_But Harry was already responsible wasn't he? Eleven and bright eyed, matching himself against the Dark Lord? You set him up for it early on, didn't you?'_

He sighed. There was guilt in his heart that he doubted he could ever assuage.

'_I didn't even look him in the eye when I knew he would need me most!'_

He had tried, oh he had tried to justify himself. He told Harry that he had been afraid for him, but the truth was that Albus Dumbledore had been first and foremost afraid for Albus Dumbledore and no one else. He had been afraid that he would be tempted to end Tom while he was possessing Harry, afraid that Tom might end him, and no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he wasn't afraid of death, he wasn't ready to go yet.

'_Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.'_

* * *

The knock on his door brought him out of his reverie.

"Come in!" Absent, that is how he felt, as if the world revolved around him while he stood silent, alone, awaiting judgement.

"Albus! We need to proceed to headquarters, Alastor has asked for a full meeting." Minerva's voice brought him out of his stupor. Distantly he wonders when she began to sound so weary.

"Albus?"

"Yes, yes" He looked up at her, poised, "Let us be on our way then."

Standing from his chair he moved to leave the office, glancing back only once.

'_Not Yet.'_

* * *

Grimmauld Place had always made him feel uncomfortable. It was neither the Slytherin décor of the place, nor its history, but it was a place that he had used to cage someone. Granted, Sirius could not have gone about on his own whims without posing serious treat not only to himself but also the rest of the Order; but if he was to admit to himself then yes, he had caged Sirius here, in an attempt to keep him safe, just as he had caged Harry in so many different ways.

There had been significant concern about the continued use of Grimmauld Place as the Order headquarters. However, all doubt had vanished upon his word that it was safe, Kreacher was taken care of, and the Fidelius charm was still in place.

'_If you tell them to jump off of the cliff, will they do it?'_

How was it that he was able to intimidate such loyalty was sometimes confusing to him.

'_The greatest wizard in the world; of course you inspire loyalty! If they only knew. . .'_

He sat down at the kitchen table as Molly Weasley bustled around trying to gather enough refreshments for everyone, and wondered what it was that his old friend wanted to talk about this evening. Was it urgent? Was it Harry, or the Dementors? Or was it just Alastor being Alastor. The years had not been kind to the man, his line of work as an Auror had instilled such paranoia in him that sometimes it bordered upon laughable. After the events of last year however – seven months spent in the confines of a trunk justified Alastor's behaviour. Seven months during which he had been unable to discern anything wrong with the impostor – another failure in his belt. The list was getting rather long . . .

* * *


	2. Footsteps, part 2

As always, HP does not belong to me.

There are other words in here that belong to greats like Housemann and Crane, Poetry I find is a great source of inspiration.

Thanks to DuShuZhi for being my first reviewer, it is muchly appreciated.

**Footsteps (Part II)**

"_**Most men lead lives of quiet desperation" - Thoreau**_

The rattling of the window was the only sound that could be heard against the night. For once all was silent in the smallest bedroom of number 4, Privet Drive. The little desk in the room was littered with letters written in rough parchment. Above it hung an empty bird cage that swung back and forth, lightly, with the wind blowing in through the open window. Harry Potter stared unwaveringly at Hedwig's cage, empty as she had once again flown off to Grimmauld Place for the instructed letter.

_Remus,_

_I am doing as best as I can._

_Harry_

The letters were not always one liners, there were longer ones that he sent to Ron and Hermione who had at least made an effort to make him feel included this summer; or the ones he wrote personally to Remus that were filled with questions and apologies. He had started off with the traditional "I am fine" that people often tend to do, but after a few responses that spewed at him he decided to change his tone a little.

Three weeks had now gone by since Sirius had fallen through the veil, and just as images of Cedric had plagued his dreams last year, visions of Sirius were never far from his mind. He had tried and tried again to practice Occlumency in hopes of curbing some of his nightmares, but had had little success –often he wondered if Snape's sink and swim policy had been the best approach to get him to learn anything but that led to even more thoughts that he simply did not want to approach; so for now he was leaving it well alone.

Mad-Eye's threat at the train station had had some mixed reactions from his family. Aunt Petunia often looked pale and worried as she stared at him from the corner of her eyes, pretending to be engaged in someone else. But years of exasperating admiration and gawking had made him more alert to scrutiny than he had once been. Dudley simply refused to come near him for fear of the Dementors attacking him again. His cousin honestly believed that Harry had set those things upon him, well as long as he was left alone Harry was too tired to care about his cousin's reasoning.

Uncle Vernon on the other hand was something of a loose canon- oftentimes Harry got the impression that his uncle would like nothing more than to pound the magic out of him; literally. So he tried to stay out of the way for everybody's sake.

He got up from his bed slowly and walked over to the window. It was a nice night as far as nights went. His eyes wandered over to the unopened letter on his desk. Professor Dumbledore had sent the letter by way of Fawkes that afternoon but Harry had not been able to bring himself to open it yet.

"_These men were born to drill and die. . . _

_Do not weep maiden, for war is kind."_

Words flittered through his mind as he tried to control the quiet rage in his heart once again. Ever since his outburst in the Headmaster's office at the end of term, he had not allowed himself to explode again, not after the conversation he had shared with Dumbledore.

'_Come home a hero,_

_Or come home not at all.'_

Was he to lead a life then of a _'quiet sort of desperation'_ that tore at him from all angles. Here he was barely sixteen and fated with hunched shoulders until he could _'come home a hero'_. Weeks after his attempted _Cruciatus _at Bellatrix Lestrange he could still feel his hands shaking and his stomach churning with disgust, and the curse hadn't even been a successful one.

'_How was he to kill anyone in this state?'_

He hadn't even begun to comprehend the enormity of the prophecy. Oh, he knew what it said, what he would ultimately need to do, but there was much more here than was within his grasp. A mere boy against a Dark Lord; his weapon of choice, apparently according to Dumbledore was to be love. He shivered thinking of the odd look on the Headmaster's face during their conversation; the weathered brows, the tight lines around his mouth; never before had Dumbledore looked his age to Harry than at the precise moment when the prophecy was recited. This made Harry want to consider things he couldn't delve into yet, it was much safer to stew in this quiet agony and silent rage, it kept him calm; at least, for now.

This morning as all mornings came without respite and Harry still stood looking out the window, his fingers absently running along the length of the coarse envelope.

'_Now or never. Now or never.' _

A quiet chanting resounded inside his head, urging him to gather his courage; and a muffled laughter escaped his chapped lips. Sliding his fingers into the envelope he took the parchment out and began reading:

_Dear Harry,_

_As your sixteenth birthday approaches I find myself uneasy of your isolation, even if it is one that was imposed by me. None the less, I promised you that you would only stay there for a month, and I shall endeavour to keep this promise at least. I again emphasise how sorry I am for the mountain of hurt I seem to pile upon you. _

_Perhaps my judgement is clouded while you are concerned as Professor Snape is quick to point out, but I doubt his ideas are the same as yours. I have hidden too many things from you in the past, and cannot truthfully say that it will not be the case again in the coming years, but I do make a solemn promise that I will impart all news and information that is likely to help you or hurt you as may be the case. _

_I would like to tell you to not fret over the content of the prophecy as much but as I have no doubt that my advice on this matter will be indeed useless, I shall keep my urges to myself for the time. However the day will come Harry, when we must address this. I told you in my office that it is your penchant for caring that makes you hurt so, and I know my words were true just as I know that Sirius's death hangs above your dreams. I can only offer words of comfort in this case as I doubt any reassurances on my part would make much of a difference. _

_Still, I would like to stress once again that I am in as much fault over this matter as anyone else, perhaps even more. Sometimes we are all fools when it comes to people we seek to protect. I would like you to keep your head up and not let despair drown you my boy; I have seen what grief does to people, and have no wish to see you in the same state. There is much we must discuss, much we must reconcile, but that is for later. _

_For now just accept this letter as concern from an old man and please do not fret over your outburst in my office._

_Albus Dumbledore_


End file.
